


In This Picture

by Lorelainoir



Category: The Secret Garden -- Norman/simon, the secret garden -- All media types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelainoir/pseuds/Lorelainoir
Summary: "It was on my dresser in India. Maybe Mother put it there. I don't know."  --  Mary LennoxAn origin story and explanation for the one thing Mary takes with her to Yorkshire.
Relationships: Albert/Rose, Lily/Archie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Neville

**Author's Note:**

> I think whoever said hindsight is 2020 was from the future and trying to tell us something we all misunderstood until this year. Aside from this global pandemic, which I hope you're all getting through happily and healthily, I had a health scare in the family earlier this year, some personal losses unrelated to the family thing that have shaken me, and projects that took waaaaaaaaaay more time than expected.  
> But I wanted to give this quiet little fandom another offering, especially since the random kudos in my inbox have often been the sole bits of brightness in days with a lot of struggle, and hope you'll enjoy it as much as my other ones (if you've read them). This works as a standalone, but you'll notice some Easter eggs to my prior work.

While he'd bought the camera as a pragmatic, sensible reason to take himself out of doors more often even if all it did was hang about his neck, Dr. Neville Craven was surprised to find photography truly was a relaxing hobby. Discovering the best angle to capture a play of light, or a passerby's momentary expression, or a bird in flight, freed his mind from obsessing over an oddity on a patient's chart, or the paperwork he needed to complete.

He had never explored the grounds of Misselthwaite with his camera until today. Some time ago he'd agreed to come and stay three days before and one day after the night of his brother's ball, and found himself taking advantage of the solitude in order to escape the hive of activity indoors.

It made a change, especially in the time since their father had died, from fleeing the house's usual suffocating silence for the general chatter and heedless good cheer of people, rich or poor. Yet the mystery still nagged at him: exactly why was Archibald holding a ball in three days?

The estate did have a ballroom, but why it was to be dusted and scrubbed and polished, and in short made to look like something out of a fairy tale now was unclear. Local musicians had apparently jumped at the chance to audition for the four-hour event (the selection that would earn his generous wage were practicing now), but while his brother could dance, he hadn't since completing lessons when he was still a boy.

Neville kept up the skill, but the ball couldn't be for his benefit. Archie wasn't the sort to meddle in his love life, only ever there with tea and sympathy when things went awry. And as for his elder brother's romantic affairs...

Neville paused in his meandering. Could Archie be holding this ball because someone had turned his head? Well, he knew the answer to that.

He kicked a stone and heard it plink against the door to Lily's garden. It was slightly ajar, as it always was when she was paying a call to the manor, otherwise it was closed and locked to everyone. Not a romantic overture on Archie's part—or so Neville fiercely told himself—but a kindness.

This walled garden was a replacement for the one she'd cultivated in the valley where the two had first met, destroyed when the area had been used for a building site. Now none but its owner, and whomever she invited in—he and Archie had standing invitations—could lay a hand on its flowers.

Neville strode to the ivy-covered door and pushed it open. He checked himself on the threshold, swallowing back a greeting as his jaw dropped in breathless delight. Lily sat in a tree; there were no toppled baby birds or snagged items of clothing to suggest why she was in the lower branches, but whatever the cause, she had settled with a dreamy, joyous smile.

She was always beautiful, but here, with sunlight seeming to halo her hair, hazel eyes gazing off into a reverie... She was entrancing. He wanted to look at her forever.

His camera was in front of his face before he'd decided to take the picture, but the impulse felt right. Unlike with his work, where if he did not act steadily and with great care someone could die, or when he had to show a certain degree of dignity among the manor's staff, he could be spontaneous with this moment. With her.

The sunlight already caught in her raven hair swung to caress half of the tresses as her head jerked, kind smile melting into confusion seconds after the click of the shutter. Neville lowered the camera with a sheepish smile as Lily's eyes alighted on him.

"Oh, hello."

"Hello, Lily."

"I didn't know you enjoyed photography."

"Only when I have something particularly beautiful I feel I must capture."

"The roses are exquisite this time of year, aren't they?" she asked, waving a hand at the flowering vines and the blooms below that he hadn't bothered to get in frame. "I adored them from the moment Archie brought baskets of them to my garden, and simply had to include some seeds from the maze. My old garden, I mean."

She colored slightly as her gaze swept across her charges, unseeing.

What had occurred between Lily and his brother in the time before Neville had met her, and when he'd shown her this place? Did a memory involving he and Lily ever make her blush so prettily?

"There are many things in this garden to catch the eye."

"Mmm."

It was a generic noise of agreement. She was peering at the flowers and seemed lost to their beauty and bounty.

He waited to see if his words would reach her, but her gaze only sharpened on something, and she began to lower herself to the ground. He flew through the door and to the base of the tree, but his proffered hand fell abruptly to his side as Lily dropped lightly to earth.

She crossed to take a closer look at either an African violet or a primrose, assuming he wasn't mixing up colors and distinguishing characteristics of other flowers. (Though he'd memorized the scientific names he seemed to have a block on applying the knowledge to life.)

"You like it here, don't you?" she asked the flowers. "You know you deserve the richest soil in the county."

"What do you think of this ball my brother is preparing?"

"I'm quite looking forward to it. It's been ages since the neighborhood's had a ball, and the officers will enjoy it. But Rose knows more about it than I do; she has very exacting standards and isn't shy about telling people when they've fallen short." She laughed. "Which is probably why he asked us both what we thought about balls in London."

"Did he? How considerate of him to seek out accurate details."

He succeeded in sounding as though he believed that was the only reason Archie would have sought the sisters' advice, in making the words terse with unshakable certainty, while inside—

Neville Craven had lost his heart to Lily almost from the moment they had met. She however, seemed to prefer the company of, and perhaps might be falling in love with, Archie.

He suspected the two had either held hands often or kissed, based solely on the hopeful and happy outlook his usually sour brother had adopted, and servants' gossip when they thought they were alone. But if an attachment had been formed, the rest of the village was unaware of it.

Shameful as it was, this gave Neville a small, fiery chute of hope. Nothing confined only to the boundaries of Misselthwaite Manor survived.

His parents' marriage had been a tepid thing by the time their mother died, and Father had only grown more cantankerous as he'd slaved away to keep the manor running. Neville credited his vocation and the freedom it had brought with tempering the tempestuous interactions he'd had with his father, or else the man might have gone through with the oft-threatened disinheritance (what little the pounds had bought him).

And even if the miserable, horrible old house weren't a killjoy, there was Archie himself. He loved his brother, and genuinely liked his tender heart, fondness for adventure stories, and beautiful singing voice, but his perpetual gloom could pervade the entire estate so that time away from the place became essential for one's sanity.

Even the staff thought so, taking to their rooms the moment their work was done and seeing their families as often as possible. Neville sometimes thought if Archie could get rid of all the servants and caretakers and exist solely on a diet of story and water, he would leave all but the library to the town.

Or at least, that was how things had been before Lily. But surely that could not last forever, his old ways would reassert themselves in time.

"Do you know if Archie's planning to drop by?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Oh. I thought... I asked Mrs. Medlock to tell him I... but of course he's busy."

The disappointment crumpling her pretty face was too much. "You have some room in these flowerbeds. Do you know what you'll plant next?"

Watching her face light up once more, Neville would have sworn the ground vanished from under him. He listened happily as she talked of roses, lilies and iris, and when she asked if she could see his pictures once they were developed, promised the best images would be hers for the taking.

He offered her a ride home, a rest from all her hard work, and had the servants pack a small meal of bread and cheese and water in a gig. By the time Lily alighted from it outside the door to her house, he had several hours worth of memories to revisit when alone in his room.

***

Many of the lieutenants that had stayed at Misselthwaite the first time its master had opened it to their use chose to stay in the village, perhaps because it boasted greater proximity to the local women. One who did take advantage of Archie's hospitality again was Captain Albert Lennox, arriving after dinner the night before the ball and eviscerating them both at cards within the hour, in the sitting room of the largest guestroom.

"How is it Archibald's the one with the boundless fortune, but you're the reckless player?" he asked Neville goodnaturedly while collecting his winnings.

"My brother has always been frugal."

Albert laughed. "Now we have it! The decorating has been left to you, hasn't it, doctor? I saw the ballroom; even if you take away all the crystal that came with the room, those candles and vases have to add up, even if the flowers are coming from Misselthwaite's grounds. And I bet the king doesn't have embroidered tapestries as fine as yours. And I haven't even seen the food and refreshment that's been ordered."

"The excess is my doing," said Archie simply. "I've never held a ball before. I don't want anyone to find fault with it, and I've been assured what the standards are in London."

"No one will know where to look, my friend," Albert assured. "Well, except at the ladies who will be in attendance. I don't suppose-"

"Rose was one of the first to receive an invitation," said Archie. "I imagined you've received a fair bit of correspondence from her since your last visit?"

"Not as much as I would like. She is very much admired by many men of my acquaintance, and corresponds with them as well."

Whereas Neville kept his expression carefully neutral, knowing there were plenty of shopkeepers and horse breeders living in Yorkshire who fancied Rose Austin as well as officers, Archie's look was sympathetic. "She will have to talk to me as the host for a short time when she arrives. Perhaps I can send her your way for a dance?"

"I'll take all the help I can get."

Albert grinned at Archie, then transferred his expression to the window, clearly seeing something quite apart from the gray landscape. Neville allowed him thirty seconds' fantasizing before clearing his throat loudly.

"Well, what about you, Archibald?" Albert asked his host. "I can't believe you held this ball purely out of the goodness of your heart. Not that we aren't grateful, but officers don't require the expense you're clearly undertaking."

"You forget, Albert, I have a great deal of money and nothing to do with it."

"Ah, but if you always felt that way you could have held at least five balls since becoming master. The servants are so unused to guests they don't watch their... well, they hardly gossip, and I only heard it as I was having a peek at the ballroom."

"Why do the staff think I'm holding a ball?" Archie asked without rancor.

"To find a bride."

His brother threw back his head and laughed. "As if I were the prince in a fairy tale? If I were that audacious I'd be a more reckless card player!"

He stood, still chuckling immoderately, and had made it to the door when it was opened by a manservant.

"Excuse me, sir, but I forgot to give you this. Mrs. Medlock says Miss Lily wanted you to have this."

"Thank you, Grant," said Archie, cupping his hand very carefully around whatever the man handed him.

The servant bowed and backed out.

"I'll see you both in the morning," his brother told them, still keeping the object concealed as he too left the room off Captain Lennox's good night.

Unconcerned with the exchange, and why should he care, Albert shuffled the cards again, a gleam in his eye. "Care to try and win some of your money back, Neville?"

***

Tension in the packed ballroom rose from calm anticipation to an almost audibly excited hum as the musicians finished warming up and began a proper tune. A reel, so no one had to feel pressured into intimate embraces straight away. A clever tactic.

Neville wasn't sure if his brother had had any say in the sets— But wait. Where was Archie?

He stuck to the edges of the room for his search as people, though not everyone present, spun about the dance floor, and so found him easily enough. Archie stood literally hunched in a corner, frowning like a thundercloud, dark and looming like some great gargoyle.

Except, Neville saw with puzzlement as he approached, for the small bit of color in the form of a red rose in his button hole; it suited his attire, but was as uncharacteristic as... well, as this entire evening.

"You aren't going to stand around all night, are you?" Neville asked in an undertone.

"I don't see why not."

"After all the trouble you've gone to to plan this party—"

"It's not a party, Neville, it is a ball, which you should go enjoy."

"What about you?"

"I can't think of any girl who would have me as a partner when there are so many young—"

"You're young!"

"undeformed men to dance with, who all have the distinction of serving king and country." He shot Neville a look. "Or are on their way to becoming distinguished in the medical world."

"A budding practice doesn't make me distinguished."

"Then apparently your looks are fine compensation for a reputation that has yet to be determined."

He looked around at his brother's pointed glance to either side. A few girls were eyeing him warmly or hopefully depending on their boldness, from their places in the queue at the food tables or from chairs scattered about the ballroom.

None were as beautiful as Lily, but it wouldn't hurt to partner with some of them for a few dances before putting his plan into action. He didn't want to seem too eager, or jump the gun; he had to work to still his hand from touching his breast pocket where the photo lay, carefully folded.

Seeing that Neville had taken his point, Archie sighed. "Perhaps I should shut myself up in the library till they've all gone home."

"If you really feel that way... then why did you go to all this trouble, focusing on every detail till the doors opened? You weren't even that meticulous about Father's funeral."

"There was no reason to be. Father's only instructions were that we both attend and he be buried in the family plot." He watched the dancers whirl for a moment, then relented. "I thought Lily might enjoy it."

Archie was unaware of the way he smiled or the way his voice softened on her name, so that the bitterness in his next words were heightened by contrast. "But everyone else has arrived and she and her sister haven't. The Smiths live further away from this house then they do, and they got here early."

"Who are the Smiths?"

"You set their youngest boy's leg when he broke it falling out of a tree. He walked by Lily's garden, the one in the valley, when he was able."

Brow furrowed, Archie scanned the ballroom, as though hoping in the time it had taken for him to convey this circumstances might have changed. Neville pretended to watch the floor clear as the reel came to an end while really doing the same.

He caught Albert Lennox's eye and shook his head. The flash of misery in the man's eyes matched how he, and Archie, he thought begrudgingly, felt.

"You said you gave Lily a ride home a few days ago. Did she tell you whether she was coming?" Archie asked, fingertips barely skimming the petals of the rose.

"She said her sister was eager to attend. I assumed that meant she would as well."

The thought that he might be wrong sent his heart pounding.

Logically, he knew he could give Lily the picture at any time, but the fantasy of giving it to her before or after sharing a dance had delighted him since their ride in the gig. If fear of what others would think of his brother's obvious feelings for her was the only thing keeping her away...

"If everyone really has arrived there is no point in you continuing to be standoffish, and uncomfortable besides. You should follow your instincts and avoid this room until the ball is over."

If he danced with some blonde piece or other for the sake of social convention, then left immediately afterward to send a telegram assuring Lily nothing about tonight would be awkward, perhaps everything would not be lost. He waited, tensed like a horse before the starting gate, as Archie turned toward the double doors and took a step in their direction. Then they opened.

Out in the garden Lily often wore colors that didn't show dirt, and the night Neville had met her on the moors she had worn a dress decorated with tactfully placed bits of lace. It was the fashion, and her sister Rose, walking a little ahead, had so much of it on the hem, waist, and chest of her white gown that she rippled with every step.

Neville had to admit the effect was stunning to look at, but her suitors would have a job figuring out where to put their hands to dance. He doubted they'd be able to feel her waist under their hands; clearly Rose had sacrificed decent interaction for a pretty impression at first sight.

But Lily... Her dress had lace, but where Rose's skirt was voluminous, the bottom half of Lily's lavender gown swayed gently about her slender figure. Her hair, usually held away from her face or arranged atop her head, fell down her back in a shining wave, only faintly restrained by a ribbon bedecked with a single red rose.

The desire to stroke even a lock, bury his hands in it, feel it against his skin as they—

She was in front of him, looking friendly and slightly curious at their position when compared to the rest of the room. This close, he could see the deep red of the rose petals in her hair, that the color of her simple silk dress, embroidered with tiny fleurs-de-lis, made the green in her eyes stand out.

She had used some powder or cream on her face to make her complexion flawless—she was enchanting.

Somehow he managed the words, "Good evening to the Miss Austins!"

Neville held out a hand to Lily, and felt a tingling sensation extend from his fingertips up through his shoulder in the brief seconds their gloved hands clasped; he shook hands with the older sister for propriety. "We were starting to worry you were snubbing our little gathering."

Lily smiled at him and Archie, who had not moved, seemingly rooted to the spot at the incontrovertible proof that the prettiest girl either of them had ever seen could somehow improve upon her beauty.

"Rose enjoys making an entrance," she stared around the room, eyes dancing with laughter. "Which is harder to do when you come in with the crowd you've gathered."

"Good evening, Archibald, good evening Dr. Craven," said Rose, her formality jarring on the heels of Lily's familiarity. "My sister and I were just marveling over the general splendor of the crowd. Simply breathtaking."

"Indeed," said Neville politely while Archie nodded, somehow managing to make the gesture look irritable.

"Goodness, Lily, your roses are exactly the same shade," Rose tried again with a forced little laugh after a painful silence, turning to Lily and motioning to her hair and Archie's suit.

"So they are," Archie murmured, eyes flicking to Lily's hair and away.

"Clearly they came from somewhere very unique," said Lily, smiling sweetly.

Neville felt as though his insides had been replaced with lead. Didn't red roses signify something in poetry or romance novels?

His preoccupation with the question, and failure to come up with exactly what red roses meant, caused him to miss a few more exchanges of conversation. When he forced himself to be present, Rose was surveying the ballroom.

"So many people here we do not know. Will you make introductions for us, Archibald?"

"Is that necessary." The woman's mouth fell open in a perfect O, but he continued unperturbed, "Captain Lennox has been on tenterhooks for your arrival, and it seems cruel to deprive him of your company just for you to say hello to people you'll probably never see or talk to again."

Looking pleasurably flustered, Rose turned to find Albert, standing a respectable distance away to have been watching them all, yet not eavesdropping on their conversation.

She began making eyes at him immediately, and within moments the Yorkshire lass and the regiment leader had met nearer to one of the strategically placed chairs.

Which left the three of them, in a corner, though not for long if he didn't act quickly.


	2. Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball, from Rose's pov.

Arriving fashionably late was a risk many unmarried young ladies were unwilling to take, for fear that all the best-looking men would be snapped up by the time they made their entrance. But Rose knew better; it was a guaranteed way to turn a man's head, particularly if the man worked in a profession where unmarried young women were not to be found and already fancied you.

Even the windows of the ballroom shone like a gold chain in the darkness, and they paused outside one to watch the crowd already gathered within.

"They look like butterflies dancing over a field of flowers," Lily breathed.

"And which male butterfly would you like to dance with first?"

Lily lifted one shoulder in a modest shrug. "Whoever asks me."

Delaying her entrance a little longer, Rose peered at a corner of the room at—could that possibly be three?—long tables heaped with so much food it was a miracle they remained upright under the weight. "My good Lord, there's everything we talked about! I think even the venison, and quail eggs!"

"I wonder if there will be fruit tarts?" Propelled by her curiosity, Lily took a few steps onward before pivoting back to Rose with a teasing smile. "You never cared about the food tables at balls in London, so what do you want to lecture me about before we go in?"

"Oh, Lily, I just want to give you some advice."

"In the form of a lecture."

"I won't lecture. I just worry. Dancing with whoever asks you? You are allowed some say in these things, you know."

"I'm capable of saying no to a man I don't want to spend time with."

"I know that! But who do you want to spend the most time with?" Rose pressed. "The first dance can help with that."

"I don't know. Dancing with Neville and Archie would be fun," Lily demurred.

"That's only true for one of them!" Rose's voice was bright to take the sting out of the words. "Assuming Archibald Craven can dance he'd make a terrible partner. I don't think I've heard the man say a scintilla of engaging conversation when he wasn't asking our advice about this ball. And he couldn't possibly talk about that without appearing even more gauche than he already does."

"Not everyone has the same idea of what passes for engaging conversation, Rose."

"Now who's lecturing," Rose laughed goodnaturedly.

Lily never stood for directly speaking ill of anyone, which made her a terrible gossip, but a sweet companion.

Rose strode ahead of her sister. They entered the large and ghastly house, letting a servant whisk away their cloaks and handbags to a cloak room with practiced ease.

That surprised Rose. If any balls had ever been held in this mausoleum of a place, it had been before any of the guests or its master was born, meaning none of the servants could have practiced. Although a woman she could only suppose was the housekeeper looked ancient enough to have been in service at such a time.

"What about Lieutenant Graves. He took quite a shine to you the last time he was here."

Lily frowned. "Only because I look good on his arm. We have very little in common apart from the fact that we're both human."

Rose stifled a giggle behind her hand.

"And English," Lily whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. Rose knew what she was about, and sure enough had to cover her mouth as her little sister went on. "And have heads and eyes and teeth and a nose and hands-"

"All right, clearly you find Peter Graves as captivating as drying paint," Rose conceded once she regained her composure and could lower her hands. "Why didn't you say something before now?"

"Because he's Albert Lennox's friend, and that man makes you smile more than any of your other prospects for a husband."

"Captain Lennox is a charmer," said Rose firmly.

She would not have people say she married the first non-local man who paid her any significant attention. Not even if he was sensible, good-humored, handsome, well-placed to rise high in the military, and had eyes she could spend hours losing herself in.

In that eerie way she had of seeing through carefully crafted facades, Lily asked, "Does it matter what anyone else thinks as long as you're happy, and not hurting anyone?"

Ignoring the question, Rose led the way further into the room, unable to hold back her smug smile as she noted the effect her entrance had had on certain men. Some would be making the cut tonight, while others would have to find a different woman to ply with their charms.

They stopped by the corner where the Craven brothers stood.

"Good evening to the Miss Austins!"

Dr. Neville Craven shook each of their hands in turn.

"We were starting to worry you were snubbing our little gathering," said the doctor, ostensibly to them both, though he seemed to preen a little at Lily's smile.

"Rose enjoys making an entrance," she stared around the room, eyes dancing with laughter. "Which is harder to do when you come in with the crowd you've gathered."

"Good evening, Archibald, good evening Dr. Craven. My sister and I were just marveling over the general splendor of the crowd. Simply breathtaking."

This line of polite conversation was meant for their host, but he only gazed at Lily in a way that would make anyone watching think the two were in love! Or at least, that Lily had given this miserable man reason to believe his attention this evening was somehow acceptable.

Rose had to concede that Lily might have done so unintentionally, and it was therefore up to her to provide a plausible reason for the lingering gaze.

"Goodness, your roses are exactly the same shade!" Rose motioned to Lily's hair and the hunchback's suit.

"So they are," he murmured, finally deciding to impersonate a gentleman as opposed to a gobsmacked statue, eyes flicking to Lily's hair and away.

"Clearly they came from somewhere very unique," said Lily, smiling sweetly.

"You're right about the number of guests, Ms. Rose," said Archibald. "We're fortunate people had nothing else to do, and don't mind the flaws of their surroundings."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, baffled.

"This house always seems to be inhabited by a wintry chill." He eyed the ballroom critically. "The ceilings stretch too high; the marble on the floors is icy even through the soles of shoes.  
Mirror-glass and metal and stone, cold surfaces everywhere, made colder  
still by the vast, empty expanses that surround us, except when you fill this place with people. Or..."  
His breath hitched as his voice deepened to something far warmer than the abrupt tirade. "Perhaps merely certain people, the right kind of people, or a certain person.."

He trailed off awkwardly, and there was a beat of the most uncomfortable silence, but before it could stretch to an unpleasant lull Lily said, "Between how all your guests are dressed tonight and the scenery there are more colors than a garden. And the ballroom is beautiful. I knew it would be lovely if put to use when you gave me a tour of the house all that time ago, but this!"

She swept a hand through the air to encompass the ornate, glittering space.

"And with everything in the latest style from London, just as we described," said Rose meaningfully, with a dazzling smile at the hunchback. "You know when you are in the presence of authorities on a subject, Archibald."

"Or he's a good listener," said Lily with that tone in her voice that meant she disapproved of Rose's choice of words. As though Lily were the elder sister, and anyone cared about the feelings of a hunchback, host or no.

Even though nobody heard it but the two of them, Rose pretended to look at the other guests, giving herself time to regain her composure. Four men were watching her with varying levels of discretion. Two of them she had received some very pretty poetry from since their last visit to Yorkshire, Captain Lennox (or perhaps she was simply in his line of sight—the man was careful to avoid giving any sign of affront), and a man she had not had the pleasure of flirting with.

"So many people here we do not know. Will either of you gentlemen make introductions for us?"

"Is that necessary."

Rose actually felt her jaw drop in shock, but Archibald continued unperturbed, "Captain Lennox has been on tenterhooks for your arrival, and it seems cruel to deprive him of a dance just for you to say hello to people you'll probably never see or talk to again."

"Has he really been so anxious?" asked Lily, while Rose met the captain's gaze and held it.

"He arrived early and specifically asked whether the two of you would be in attendance tonight." The cripple frowned in Captain Lennox's direction. 

"Oh, Rose," Lily pleaded softly.

But Rose didn't need her sister's good-natured entreaties; she was incandescent with fury at the idea that this miserable, pathetic man, who had no idea what to do with money unless explicitly told, could pity a fine upstanding gentleman like Captain Albert Lennox.

Rose turned, meeting the captain by a chair in a trice, and held out a gloved hand. "Captain Lennox, a pleasure to see you again."

They shook hands.

"I'm honored that you decided to see me at all after Archibald's bluntness."

"How do you know he was blunt?"

"Because there is no other way to be when relaying my regard for you."

"You admit to it?" Rose asked with mock shock, on the comfortable ground of flirting.

"Yes. I would like to dance with you, I would like to spend some of the evening with you. All of which you have already guessed from my last letter."

The frankness of his words surprised a warm smile out of her. After that she had no choice but to dance her first dance with him, or else risk a rumor that she was as unsociable as their host.

As she whirled about the dance floor, she caught sight of Dr. Craven dancing with a blonde woman swathed in robin's egg blue.

"Have any of your friends or colleagues spoken to you about my sister?"

"No."

Rose pouted, she couldn't help it. If left to manage for herself, Lily would putter about in a garden for the rest of her life, until all her pretty ways were lost.

"Not all men are as prone to talk of their feelings as I am," said Albert.

"I should think that rather unbecoming of a captain, unless your feelings are returned." The flutter of her lashes was both dismissive and coy.

"Or if the woman is beautiful beyond compare." His eyes never left hers as he twirled her into him.

When the music came to an end he reluctantly let go of her waste, and she let her fingers linger in his hand a few seconds longer than was strictly proper.

"If you wish to return to your sister, I will not keep you."

She looked for Lily only to find her closer at hand as the strains of a waltz were played, being led onto the ballroom floor by Archibald Craven, who looked simply stunned at having her for a partner.

Rose shook her head. "I am not so heartless as to turn away a man who calls me beautiful beyond compare."

She put her hand on his waste. He smiled, and captured her free hand once more.

She tactfully used a break between dances to eat, and secure partners for four of the dances that followed, so as to not appear to have an open preference for the captain. Rose's pleasure at her own cleverness died after actually having to dance with these lieutenants; every man failed to compare with Albert's grace, manners, or amount of butterflies in her stomach at their touch.

She found him in the crush of people afterward, talking to another man. He saw her looking, and with a smile that made her blush mouthed, "wait for me".

Pleased, and refusing to stand rooted in the middle of the room like one of Lily's flowers, she followed her friend Claire's beckoning finger into an empty guilt chair beside the one she already occupied. Claire always had the best and truest gossip.

"Your sister has been dancing with the hunchback ever since you parted company."

"You know Lily. If it were being written today she would be the perfect inspiration for that character in Pride and Prejudice, the most beautiful sister who goes along with everything." 

She'd never read the book, but from what she heard the character sounded a great deal like her little sister, when she wasn't being intransigent.

"Unfortunately, no respectable man has sought to interfere. Dr. Craven appears rather attentive at times, but he's equally enthralled by whatever it is he's holding."

Rose followed Claire's pointing finger to where the doctor stood a little way off from Lily and Archibald, who were indeed waltzing gracefully, gazing at something held protectively, almost furtively close. With a swift, conspiratorial smile to her friend, Rose stood and advanced on the doctor.

"And what is so fascinating that you ignore all the pretty girls who would have you for a partner, Dr. Craven?"

He gave a start at her question. "A hobby of mine. What do you think?"

He held out a photograph and she took it. Lily was sitting in a tree of all things and somehow smiling as if there could be no higher pleasure in the world, but aside from that...

"This is lovely," Rose breathed, fingers closing around the image.

The man's hand shot out and clamped over her wrist like a vice. He let go at once, but she still rubbed at the spot.

"My apologies, Miss Austin, but I wanted your opinion, not your acquisition."

"Oh, let me have it," she wheedled, lips turning down in the pout that had overwhelmed her father and any man that had ever taken to her. "It can be a sign of our friendship."

"You have not needed my friendship before this moment."

"What are you going to do with a picture of _my sister? Not sell it, you said this was a hobby. Unless you mean Lily is your hobby."

He looked away from her, back to the dance floor. She followed his inscrutable gaze to where Lily twirled. Interesting.

When he spun back to her, she had already put two careful backward steps of distance between them, but he didn't seem to care about her openly childish attempt at theft.

"You are welcome to it. Do you think Lily would approve?"

"I don't know any woman who wouldn't be flattered," said Rose, meaning it, "With this picture or a request to dance."

Before he could think she meant herself with that remark, she bustled off to stow the picture in her handbag. Returning to Claire's side, she was prepared to tell her about Lily's new dance partner, when a high-pitched cry of pain and frustration rang out in the pause between songs.

A soldier carried a woman, glaring daggers at the broken heel of one of her shoes, to a chair and settled her into it. The man then beckoned Dr. Neville Craven with a commanding wave of the hand, and he strode over, diverging from his path to where her sister and his brother stood locked in conversation.

Rose rolled her eyes; some men had so many duties they hardly had time for living. This could be said of a captain as well, but at least Albert knew when to leave duty behind for an evening.

***

When the ball ended at midnight everyone applauded the musicians and lined up to be let into the cloak room. As Rose and Lily were the last to have their outer garments taken, they would be the last to receive them.

As they continued to linger in the ballroom, Rose tried again. "Colonel Andrew's wearing a flower! Why don't you-"

"That's the third man you've suggested I talk to since the ball ended. I haven't been unsociable."

"Lily, you've been dancing with that gloomy Archibald all evening!" She didn't hide the worry and exasperation she was feeling. 

"He's just shy, Rose. I think Archie has the tenderest heart I've ever known."

"Silly Lily, have you been so busy looking into his eyes that you've missed the hump on his back?"

Their part of the queue moved into the cloakroom, and as they bundled up Lily chided, "You keep bringing that up as though it ought to mean something."

"To most people it would. I know you thought you fancied the gloomy one, but it's one thing to make excuses for his personality-"

"I am not-"

"People might get the wrong impression of you, Lily. That you only want a rich man, or—or..."

She stopped as the answer came upon her in a flash: Lily had spent the entire night proving what a good doctor's wife she would make. The wife of a doctor would have to dance attendance on all sorts of ill-tempered, repulsive people when her husband was busy, or in need of a respite. And Lily would have to see the brother at Christmas, or perhaps Dr. Craven's birthday, if she didn't seek refuge at Rose's establishment, which she would grant without question.

Rose beamed at her sister's shadowed face as they flowed out of the house with the rest of the assembly goers. "You really want to go about this the right way, don't you? Show him how serious you are?"

"Yes!" The word burst from her, and the radiant, lovesick smile spreading across her face, glowing even through the folds of cloth, made Rose want to pull her little sister into an embrace and twirl until they collapsed upon the ground, as they had when children.

"Oh, Rose, I want so badly for him to believe that I love him for who he is, not even in spite of all the barriers for us. Because I truly don't agree about the flaws in his life. And I know it will be a different kind of life, even from yours-"

"None of that matters as long as you understand what's expected of you."

"You really think so?"

"Well, there are matters to be arranged. You will have to contend with a great deal of difficulties, and a fair bit of loneliness, but as long as you have a garden—ooof!"

Arms held out, Lily flung herself at Rose, who let herself be engulfed rather than risk toppling into the dirt.

"Gardens are how I'm going to get through his concerns! Watching flowers grow for as long as I have gives you reserves of patience!" 

In the months that followed, she would see the error of her assumption, berate Lily when it became clear she meant to waste her life as a nursemaid to a crippled man and possibly crippled children. In the first few years that followed her little sister's death, after nights with too many glasses of punch and in the early hours of the morning, she sometimes wondered what might have happened if she'd intervened more firmly, had stated her opposition on any of the countless days Lily had set out to that monstrosity of a house before Archibald proposed.

The question, would it have worked? transformed to, would God have let her stay? But after a while, Rose ceased to wonder.


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of Archie and Lily's time at the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't part of the original outline, but Neville left them alone and they started talking and... and... If you don't want to read it, it's technically not a chapter and adds nothing to the story, but I couldn't cut the cute!!

"I have a photograph developed that I'd love to show you," Neville told Lily.

"You've never shown me any of your photographs," said Archie mildly.

"We can look at it together," Lily offered, before fixing Neville with a polite smile and telling him, "While I'm looking forward to seeing it, if you don't rescue one of the ladies who have been staring at you from being a wallflower, I'm afraid you'll have to contend with a frightening amount of angry fathers and brothers."

"I suppose you're right. But how to choose?"

"That girl in the blue dress—no, the one that looks like a robin's egg—claimed to be the belle of the ball when she did the season."

"You never told me about gardens in London," said Archibald awkwardly, after Neville flashed them a winning smile and quickly secured the consent of the young lady.

"Yes I did. The night I first saw this house and met Neville, we talked about the differences between French and English gardens, don't you remember?"

"Of course I do, but you must be thinking about them a little more these days. Your sister will want to live in a place where she can entertain many elegant and well-connected people. I'm afraid that isn't Yorkshire."

"This ballroom begs to differ. And is Rose really so predictable?"

"A little. But also Albert needs little encouragement to talk about her. He's more than willing to give her a life that will make her happy. And when she marries you'll be on your own, and-"

"Will only be visiting my sister, assuming there's not an ocean between us. I don't need to make a garden everywhere I go, only at home."

He couldn't fight back a smile at her implication that this house, or at least its most private garden, could somehow be a home to her.

"Aren't you going to greet your guests who aren't dancing?" she asked after a moment.

"I've never been good at conversation," he said quietly.

"I beg to differ."

"You are used to silence." He winced at the briskness of his tone, somewhere between his brain and his mouth the intended compliment had become a rebuke.

The musicians struck up a waltz.

"Dance with me?" she asked.

"I haven't danced for some time."

"But you must have practiced for tonight?"

"Yes, but I would hate to embarrass you, or-"

"I could never be embarrassed by you, Archie. Please?"

As he'd been taught, he bowed, and after her curtsy took her waist and held out a hand. She placed hers into it, and his senses registered nothing but her—the sight of her, the rustle of her gown and her delighted gasps when he spun her, the smell of the flower she wore mingled with her own scent, the softness of her glove and warmth of her work-roughened hand through the material. And the feel of their hands clasping... there were no words for the sensation.

"The primroses seem to be taking to Yorkshire soil," she said, after they had danced through a quarter of the song in silence. "I wanted to tell you the last time I came, but you were busy ensuring tonight was magnificent."

She wasn't just being kind, his gaze had followed hers when it strayed to couples and families, and everyone had been smiling as they danced, talked, or partook of food and refreshment.

"Good, I was worried; I never bought seeds before. I'd hate to disappoint you."

"You have no control over how well flowers will grow." She laughed. "If you did you would never be rid of me, not even upon my death."

"But it was my decision to buy the seeds without consulting you." Even as he smiled at her joke, he refused to be deterred from making her see his sincerity.

"A decision I approved of when I saw the packet. I like surprises."

"But it's your garden. You should have final say in everything grown in it."

Her tender smile sent heat blazing through him. "As long as you don't buy vegetables for me to plant, I'll happily accept your contributions, no matter the results."

"Thank you, but I think I'll come to you about my ideas beforehand in future."

"Good. Then we'll see more of each other after tonight?"

"If you wish it." At her nod he felt alert and alive enough to race and climb every hill between here and the valley where they had first met.

"I can think of no greater pleasure than spending all my time with you."  
He lost count of the music, stumbled, and banged into another couple.

They continued to dance, and it was only after the players stopped for a break that he realized it had been through five songs. He went to get them drinks, nodding in greeting at the attendees who smiled, waved, or called something at him on the way from and back to Lily's side.

He caught sight of Neville a time or two, but couldn't have said how his brother fared or what he'd done even if pressed. In the end, Archie only wished the ball had gone on longer, and slept late the next day, loath to wake from a dream where he and Lily stayed up the entire night dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, this somehow feels more presumptuous than posting my fic, but one of the projects I've been doing is a 30-day Broadway song challenge on my YouTube channel, and I covered "How Could I Ever Know". On the off chance any of you would like to hear it (and maybe check out some of the other posts -- the challenge is complete) here you go:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtUkCx9to3U


	4. Albert

SIX YEARS LATER

He knew it was possible to become complacent or even apathetic with anything, but there were some sights Albert imagined would always move him in some way. Mary's smile as she'd accepted a surprise present, a rose, was one of them.

Rose's friend Claire, now the wife of Major Holmes, had been the hostess of a sumptuous, exceptionally catered dinner party the night before, and the centerpiece of the table had been an arrangement of twelve dozen roses. Albert had asked the couple if he could bring one home for his daughter, and Claire had been enchanted by the idea, even more so when Rose had discussed what book could be removed from the library for them to dry and press it in.

An idea that wouldn't become a reality, since his daughter had insisted on wearing it in her hair on their outing to the river, and the white rose was wilting quickly in the blazing sun. Mary, watched by her Ayah, was fortunately too busy pressing sticks into the sand at one of the banks to notice.

"She did that when she was Mary's age," said Rose, seated beside him under the shade of their canopy. "Except with her it was boxes full of leaves and twigs, until Father gave her a garden."

"You're allowed to say her name. Just because she died, some might say as a consequence of making a choice you didn't approve of, doesn't mean-"

"My sister threw her life away. My sister wasted a perfectly good life. When our child's old enough for me to spend time with I'll teach her better."

Albert refilled Rose's water glass from the basket of supplies at his feet. He would never tell Rose that superficially her married life resembled the one her little sister had led, aside from the countries in which each had taken place. Both women had lived in luxury and wanted for nothing, had been mothers and the mistress of a grand household, and had meant the world to their respective husbands.

But his Rose was, according to a work in the study of psychology, an extrovert. She glittered and preened, and was never happier than when she was a group's center of attention, whereas the Lily he remembered had been perfectly friendly, but aside from a select group of people preferred the company of flowers.

He had tried, on several occasions, to broach the idea of returning to Yorkshire with Mary, on the pretense of her and Lily and Archie's child meeting. In truth, he was worried about his brother-in-law, who had transformed into an optimistic, storybook gallant during his courtship and what Albert had seen of his marriage. Now the man was raising a child... not entirely on his own, not with the servants and his brother so near, but for all that he'd been polite to the man, Albert had never warmed to the doctor.

Unfortunately, this topic was the only one on which he and his wife fought, and on which they could not be brought round to the other's way of thinking. Rose even balked at staying in some Yorkshire hotel, which he'd posed as a counter to her vehement objection to staying in Archie's manor.

Soon enough they returned home.

"Mother's having her tea party now, isn't she?" asked Mary eagerly.

"Yes she is."

"I know"—Mary sneezed—"how to hold"—sneeze—a—four sneezes in a row that nearly doubled her over—"teacup."

"I'll have tea brought up to your room," he said, giving her a hug. "You're going to bed."

As Mary's Ayah bustled her off, Rose changed to welcome her friend Alice for afternoon tea in her private parlor, and Albert wandered away to resume sorting some of their old things to be given to the poor.

He made a stop by the library about halfway through to stretch his legs, returning the now useless old edition of a magazine Rose had selected for the flower's preservation back to the shelf. As he set it down, it fell open a little, and something fluttered out of it.

He bent to pick up the paper—no, photograph—of his late sister-in-law, in the tree that had grown, perhaps still grew, above the walls in her private garden at the big old house. He wasn't sure how long he crouched, gazing at the image of a vibrant, young, kind woman with a whole life ahead of her, rooted in place by a kind of tender, renewed grief.

On an impulse he headed to Mary's bedroom and placed the picture on her dresser. She deserved to know what her aunt had looked like, especially if she ever got it into her head to wonder where she'd gotten her hazel eyes from.

He was halfway across the room to wake Mary, fast asleep on the bed, but abruptly turned back and tiptoed out the way he had come. Rose should tell her, he decided, not only because she had known Lily longer and best, but he felt certain talking to their reserved, opinionated daughter would help her let go of the pent-up grief she refused to admit was still there.

"I found a photograph of Lily," he told her after Alice had gone. "Tucked between the pages of that fashion magazine we were going to press the rose in."

"A picture of Lily? How odd. I hope you threw it out, we don't need a wedding photo of her and Archibald."

"While I hate disappointing you, I put it in Mary's room, and I think it should stay there. It's not a wedding photo, Rose," he continued calmly as she sprang up from her seat like a scalded cat, "It's before either of our weddings, I think. She's in that tree in the garden Archie gave her."

"Oh," Rose said in surprise, settling back into the chair with a gentle swirl of her skirts. "Yes... That was a lovely picture of her. Very well, she can keep it as long as she doesn't pester me with questions about it. I have that dinner party to plan on Friday, and I won't have her underfoot."

"Mary knows the rules when you're planning parties, darling."

Eventually they would talk, Albert assured himself. In fact, he'd hasten this eventuality by redirecting any questions Mary posed to him about the picture. If she only had one parent to inquire about it to, then she had only one source from which to receive an answer.


	5. Mary

Mary's room always stayed the same, which made it very easy to notice the one thing that had changed when she woke up later that day. It was an immediate distraction from the fact she'd sweated through the nightgown she was wearing, and her nose was stuffed. She hated being ill, no one ever did fun things with you when you were ill. There was a rectangle on her dresser. Something that was the right size for either a very small book, or a picture. Since she couldn't tell what it was, Mary shuffled, shivering and resentful, out of bed to retrieve it before examining it back under the covers. It was a picture... of a woman who had decided to sit in a tree. The tree was large. And the woman didn't look uncomfortable, as Mary would expect someone to look if they decided to do something as stupid as sit in a tree. In fact she looked... more than happy to find herself on the branch. And now that Mary was looking at it, she could tell this tree wasn't like any of the trees in India. It was the only other thing in the picture, almost as though whoever had taken it had been trying to take a picture of the tree instead of the woman, who Mary thought a far more interesting subject. She wondered who the woman was, but to her irritation found no name written on the back when she turned over the image. She didn't like her reading and writing lessons, and didn't have very many of them, but being able to find out who the woman was would have made them worth something, for once. She was a very pretty woman, younger than Mother, Father, her Ayah, or any of the servants; she had long black hair, and her eyes... Mary would have said they looked like hers, seeming to shift from brown to green, but the woman's were different. They were smiling, like the rest of her face, and they looked like they didn't know how to narrow in disappointment, the way Mary knew hers often did. They made her look like Father, like a person who would play with her. And also like a person who would invite her to an afternoon tea, and who would notice she'd been practicing the proper way to hold a teacup. Those eyes that looked exactly like hers were looking at something small, something that most people couldn't be bothered with. "Welcome to my room. Have some tea," Mary told the picture, trying to imitate the woman's smile. It promptly slid off her face when she realized she had no food or drink to give this person, her Ayah having whisked away the teacup after Mary had drank it. Then she remembered pictures didn't drink or eat, and felt silly. "I'm going to sing you a song." Mary told the woman. "Mother sings it sometimes, but not nearly so much anymore." Mary sat up, drawing the covers with her. "Clusters of crocus..." *** FOUR YEARS LATER Once her Ayah was gone, Mary threw off the covers and went over to her dresser. As usual, the picture of the woman in the tree was the only thing on it. The picture and its subject were the one mystery of Mary's life. Her Ayah had never known anything about it, and for a while her father had pretended it wasn't there, but when he realized Mary hadn't found this funny, all he had ever said was, "Talk to your mother." Mary had tried, but her mother either never stayed still long enough to talk to, or told her Ayah to take Mary to her room whenever she asked about the woman. And now they were going to be sent away together, maybe for years. She had heard Mother telling Father not to order the servants to pack their things just yet, that it could wait until morning. Maybe this was Mother's way of trying to make it better that Father wanted to send the two of them away from the cholera. Since she didn't like the idea of Mary staring at her, and was enjoying her party with all of her friends (except Claire, who Mary had overheard wanted to stay in after getting back from Africa), tonight Mary could spend more time staring at the woman in this picture. She liked having silent conversations with this woman, who looked to be staring out at her, pretending she was wherever this tree might be, and knowing she would be happy to be looked at like that. Like she was the reason for that happy, magical expression—a good magic, like in the stories. In her imaginings with the woman and tree, which were sometimes in a forest, sometimes in a castle, sometimes in the middle of an island, she remained on the ground like a normal person. The woman never scolded her for that, not only because it was how people should behave, but because she never scolded, or said things that made Mary worry. What do you think the house we're staying in will be like? the woman asked inside Mary's head once she'd resettled herself in bed. She had a pretty voice, to match her looks. "It doesn't matter what it's like. We have to go there whether we want to or not." It should be large, inside and outside. You'll take me with you to look at everything outdoors. "All right, but I won't sit in trees." I know. You'll have to make sure and look all around you then, so you can tell me what kind of birds are flying about. Mary had long ago decided the woman must be birdwatching from her perch. "I will. Or my Ayah will. She'll be with us." There. It won't be so different when we leave home then, will it? "No," Mary admitted, smiling as she began to tuck the picture under her pillow. Wait! I want to sing the song tonight! Mary got up, and positioned the picture on her dresser so she could see the woman's face from her bed, then settled back down. Mary's idea of her voice was a little like Mother's had been when she used to sing, high and clear, but also sweeter, and a little softer, although that didn't stop anyone from understanding the words. She often wondered what crocus looked like, other than purple and gold. And how could there be blankets of pansies when blankets were made out of proper things like wool? She knew what snow was from going to a few places in India, but had never been able to enjoy it because she'd always fallen ill; eventually they'd stopped going, and stayed home where it was always hot. Still, she had a hard time picturing a flower that could be called a snowdrop; something white, she supposed, and soft, like how snowflakes looked falling from the sky. When the woman had finished singing the flower song three times, Mary crept, rather tired now, out of bed and took the picture back so she could tuck it under her pillow. She thought she heard Mother say something, but there were birds chirping on a riverbank covered with white roses, and the woman was climbing down from the tree and saying her name...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending surprised me, a little. Mary's loneliness and how she hides it, came through in a much sharper way than I thought they would, but it answers my three questions of why she took Lily's picture with her, why she had it with her in the first place when Major Holmes and the others found her, and why (seriously, why?) does she have it on her way outside after A Fine White Horse.  
> I hope you found something to like!!


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